For a long time, pop culture has been obsessed with sex, just not the full picture of it. Films and TV have historically centered one version of intimacy: penetrative, partnered, and usually prioritising male pleasure. Female pleasure, when it appeared at all, was often treated as automatic, mysterious, or secondary. It’s no surprise, then, that so many people grow up without the language, confidence, or information needed to understand their own pleasure.
That’s what makes moments like those in Season 4 of Netflix’s Bridgerton feel quietly important.
In season four, the show introduces a storyline that feels refreshingly honest. Francesca Bridgerton, newly married, is having sex but doesn’t actually know what an orgasm is. At one point, it’s referred to as a ‘pretend pinnacle’ (read fake orgasm), a line that lands with humour but also with uncomfortable familiarity. Faking pleasure isn’t played for shock value here, but as a reflection of how common this experience still is.
When pleasure is hinted at, but never explained.
Throughout the episodes, sex is referred to as ‘tea’, a soft, coded metaphor that allows characters to talk about intimacy without ever saying the word.
“Everyone drinks tea, ma’am.”
The metaphor is playful, but it also highlights something deeper: how often pleasure is talked around, rather than talked about directly. Francesca knows she’s meant to want ‘tea’, she’s meant to enjoy it, but no one has ever clearly explained what that enjoyment is supposed to feel like.
So she starts asking questions.
First, to her sister-in-law: “Do you experience the pinnacle?”
Then, to her mother: “What is a pinnacle? In… the bedroom.”
Her mother’s answer is loving, but vague:
“A pinnacle, it is pleasant. It is more than pleasant, it is a delightful closeness...that is near impossible to describe. It’s like a shared language. And when you speak the same language you are able to feel magical, special… feeling. Inside.”
It’s tender, and it reflects how many generations of women have understood pleasure emotionally, but not anatomically. When Francesca still feels lost, she goes back to her sister-in-law, this time asking plainly, and without romance:
“The pinnacle we were speaking of, I do not know what the pinnacle is, or means, or where to find it, or how to acquire it… what is a pinnacle? I beg you. No similes, no analogies. No sentimentalities. I just need answers.” Francesca Bridgerton
Image credit: Netflix
It’s also worth naming what an orgasm actually represents. An orgasm is often described as the pinnacle of pleasure: a physical and emotional climax where sensation peaks and the body releases built-up tension. But while it can be a powerful moment, it’s not the only measure of good sex, nor is it guaranteed or instantaneous. Treating orgasms as both meaningful and learnable, rather than mysterious or obligatory, is key to understanding why so many women feel disconnected from their own pleasure in the first place.
Naming pleasure matters.
The response she gets is one of the clearest explanations of pleasure we’ve seen in mainstream television:
“It is a sensation that occurs between your legs and spreads throughout your entire body. Your heart will begin to race. You may gasp for air, or shout into the night. It feels like the height of pleasure. It cannot always only be achieved through the action of love.” Penelope Bridgerton
That line alone does a lot of work. It gently dismantles one of the biggest myths contributing to the orgasm gap: that penetrative sex alone should be enough. In reality, most women need clitoral stimulation to orgasm, and it often doesn’t happen at the same time as their partner’s. When pop culture ignores this, it reinforces silence, confusion, and performance over genuine pleasure.
What Bridgerton does differently is show that curiosity is not only acceptable, it’s necessary. Pleasure isn’t framed as something women should instinctively know, but something they are allowed to learn.
Pleasure across generations.
Another quietly powerful aspect of the show is who gets to desire ‘tea’. Francesca’s mother, a widow, is shown wanting intimacy too. Her interest is depicted as tender and natural, not embarrassing or comedic. That matters. When pleasure is only associated with youth, it creates another barrier to honest conversation.
By showing women of different ages wanting closeness and connection, Bridgerton reinforces that desire and sexuality doesn’t disappear with marriage, motherhood, or time. It evolves.
Why this helps close the orgasm gap.
The orgasm gap isn’t just about anatomy. It’s about expectations, scripts, and who we believe pleasure is for. When media consistently shows sex ending with male orgasm, it teaches all of us, subconsciously, what matters most.
Closing the gap isn’t about flipping the script or placing blame. As we’ve seen culturally with Barbie, it’s about questioning the limits we’ve accepted for too long. When it comes to partnered sex, we’re still operating under outdated roles that prioritise male pleasure and leave women guessing.
Shows like Bridgerton help by making female pleasure visible, discussable, and normal. They model conversations between sisters, mothers, and friends. They show that it’s okay to ask questions, to laugh, to be specific, and to drop the mystery altogether.
Because the truth is, the female orgasm isn’t a mystery. It’s powerful, learnable, and deeply human.
If pop culture continues to tell stories that centre pleasure as something women want, deserve, and can talk about openly, we don’t just get better television. We get better conversations, better intimacy, and a real chance to finally close the orgasm gap.
